


Music in the Nothing

by Aicnerys



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Depression, Don't copy to another site, Existential Angst, M/M, Post-Lord of the Rings, Suicidal Ideation, Whump, not sad ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 00:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22287172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aicnerys/pseuds/Aicnerys
Summary: Melkor is in the Void. It is cold, and he is angry.
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Comments: 8
Kudos: 77





	Music in the Nothing

Melkor is in the Void, screaming, hatefully wishing that he never had siblings or fellows to dare challenge him.

The Void is not nearly as void as he thought it would be. Far away and aways from Arda, there are other dreams and stories to be had.

The Void is cold, abyssal, biting. It strips his physical body away bit by bit, reducing him to a mighty, crashing symphony. Voices twine in and out, screaming, growling, roaring. His useless servants, cowards, unable to do their jobs.

Especially that Maia. Always unsatisfied with Lieutenant, always kneedling him, always asking questions instead of getting things done, always asking questions, always a ‘my lord’ this or a ‘my lord’ that. So concerned with efficiency that he ended up inefficient. Useless Lieutenant, always hovering by his side, always offering up useless soothing words and platitudes when what he wanted was a second in command, not a soothsayer that didn’t understand how to soothe! Worthless, useless fire spirit he should’ve just made into a Valaraukar and been done with. And then there was his covetousness of the Silmarils. The only reason he didn’t want Melkor to steal them would have only been desire from himself, and any lies about tactics and strategy were just that: lies. He doesn’t need tactics, he has brute force.

Melkor is the Black Foe of the world, mightiest of lords, king of kings, god of gods. There is nothing that does not pale in comparison to him! 

His song is a proclamation of great fanfare, orchestral, dramatic, needlessly complex for what it is.

  
  
  
  
  


Melkor is in the Void, and his voice is tired. If he could bleed, he would. Rage consumes him. If he could destroy, he would. Self-loathing consumes him. 

He is consumed. 

The Void is cold.

Melkor is cold.

Melkor is lonely.

If he could cry, he would.

Melkor misses Mairon.

It surprises him, that thought, that Melkor misses Mairon, because it’s so deceptively simple. But why? Why does he miss Mairon?

Mairon always doubted him, always asked if he was sure about something, always wanted to talk to him. 

Melkor misses Mairon because Mairon always tried to make all the bad things go away. And Melkor kept shoving him away, and the bad things got worse, and everything hurt, his scars, his dreams, his mortal body, the Silmarils.

But there was Mairon, who was warm and nice and always tried for him, even when he wouldn’t acknowledge it.

Melkor misses Mairon.

Selfishly, he wishes Mairon were here because then he wouldn’t be so cold.

His song is stripped down again, becoming a simple piece, a delicate instrumental part with rough, powerful vocals.

  
  
  
  
  


He is a mistake.

He is certain. There was some sort of mistake when he was made.

That’s why he’s sad and lonely. All the dreams here are not like him. They were made right. He wasn’t. That had to be it, there is no other way. Otherwise, all the other dreams and songs out here would be like him: worthless.

They aren’t worthless. He wishes he was like them, all full of vibrancy and meaning, with so many minute details wrapped up in them, so many different things within them.

They all make their existence worthwhile too. All he’s done is steal and connive and fight, and the one soul that ever loved him made a mistake in doing so.

He deserves this cold emptiness.

The stripped-down song of him is four arrangements of a single melody consisting of four bars in six-eight time. There are no words. 

He is not worth words.

  
  
  
  


The soul in the Void feels warmth again. It does not know how long it has been here. It does not care enough to try and discern that. There is a lifelessness to its melody, as though the musician is playing an overplayed, hated song out of muscle memory. There is no musicality, just that melody, rearranged four times, on repeat, on a loop.

Over and over and over again the spirit play its melody, each time a little less emotionally, each time a little more mechanically. It is careless, listless, despondent.

The spirit is a leviathan in the Void, soon to become a leviathan’s corpse.

It cannot bring itself to care anymore. It does not have the energy to care left.

It does not register that it feels warmth.

Something new comes closer to it, navigating the cast-off pieces of it that have slowly turned to ice.

It does not comprehend.

It is not worth approaching. That dreadful, soulless song continues to play.

At some point, anything worth listening to fell out, and now only a single melody remains, played over and over again.

The spirit hopes the rest of the song will be stripped away too, that way it won’t have to deal with the fact that it exists anymore.

  
  
  
  
  


The new one won’t let it go away. They’re so warm, so bright, so insistent. Everytime a note falls out, the new one fills the gap with warmth.

It’s so tired.

It knows that when all the notes finally fall out, it can sleep, and everything will go away. 

Every note takes a little longer to play than the last.

There is a franticness to the new spirit, and they try to fill in the gaps with their own music.

It likes the music. It’s syrupy and golden and warm and restful and driving.

But it’s still so tired. It wishes it was good enough to communicate that to the warm spirit so that they know not to waste their time with it.

  
  
  
  


The warm spirit is persistent and desperate and they won’t let him sleep. He’s so tired, but they’re there, with him.

They sing for him, all warm and snuggly and precise and he likes it. He doesn’t feel so lonely anymore.

They like it when he cares about his song, so he tries to remember what it’s supposed to really feel like.

He’s not quite sure, but they help him, suggesting emotions through their own song.

It’s not enough to really remind him of who and what he is, but he relishes each devoted tune and harmony. He loves the cleverness of their melodies, the level of craft required.

Eventually, he manages to ask them a question.

“Are you going to leave me too?”

They pause, take a moment, then reply.

“No, my lord, I would never.”

This makes him happy, makes all the notes bounce despite their solemnity. The other spirit is happy to join in, and the music bounces and pauses and slides.

  
  
  
  


Eventually, he realizes that the spirit beside him is Mairon, and that pleases him, even if he can’t quite remember why. They make good music together, order and chaos as one intertwined whole, weaving in and out, combining in one, lovely whole.

At some point in time, he rediscovers curiosity.

“Who are you?”

“Your most faithful servant.”

Oh.

He had hoped there would be something, well, more, even though the answer pleases him and makes him preen a little. He doesn’t quite think he meant to be that sort of spirit.

But he keeps that thought to himself.

  
  
  


Melkor is with Mairon and they sing together in the Void, where nothing is.

“I don’t understand why I was made.” Melkor says.

“Does it matter?” Mairon responds.

“I think so.”

“Why?”

“Because my father had to have created me for a purpose, right? Otherwise, he wouldn’t have made me the way I was.”

“Or maybe you were named and were supposed to figure out the rest from there. I am named admirable, and I am admirable, but I am not just that. You can be more than why you were made.”

“Ah.”

Melkor found this to be an unsatisfying, yet final, conclusion.

  
  


Melkor and Mairon sing in the Void, and Melkor realizes that he wants to love and be loved.

“Do you love me?” He asks.

“Yes.”   


“I love you too.”


End file.
